Some Things Never Change
by hughville
Summary: Cameron returns to PPTH and House after Cuddy dies unexpectedly.  While there are mentions of Huddy, this a House/Cameron fic.


**A/N: I wrote this before the S7 finale and before Lisa Edelstein chose not to renew her contract. I also wrote this before Jennifer Morrison signed on to play Emma Swan in _Once Upon A Time_ (a totally fantastic show).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _House_ or the characters.**

I'm always amazed by the fact that certain things never change. When Wilson called me to tell me about Cuddy's death, he sounded devastated but was more worried about House. Some things never change. He told me House seemed unaffected and acting as if nothing was wrong before begging me to come back. Some things never change.

Walking through the doors of Princeton Plainsboro, I see that the lobby is still the same. I look to my right and see the clinic crowded with people but Cuddy's office is dark. I look away and head toward the elevators. As I push the button for the fourth floor, I catch a glimpse of Nurse Brenda. Her eyes are red and her face is pale. The doors close and I watch the numbers flash as I move upwards; up toward my past.

Wilson is standing outside House's office, staring in. Loud music fills the hallway. People hurry past the Diagnostics office, averting their eyes. I sigh. Some things never change. I stride forward and stop beside Wilson. He turns to me and I suppress a gasp. He looks worse than he did when Amber died. Wrapping me in a tight embrace, he sobs softly against my shoulder. I pat his back and wait. Finally he pulls away.

"Thank you," he sniffles. "He won't talk to anyone. He's acting like nothing is wrong. He always listened to you."

I stare at him, wide-eyed. Wilson squeezes my shoulder and walks away. I watch him walk back to his office. House always listened to me? I shake my head. House never listened to me. Squaring my shoulders I enter the office I swore I would never step foot in again. House is looking out of the window, leaning on his cane. His hair is silvered and longer; soft tendrils curl along the strong nape of his neck. His t-shirt still strains across the wide, muscled width of his shoulders and his jeans still cup the curves of his ass perfectly. Shaking my head to stop the treacherous path my mind is taking, I reach out and turn off the music. Silence descends on us.

"She had a brain aneurysm," House remarks. "It blew while she was sleeping. She probably never felt it. I guess that's a good way to go; peacefully in your sleep."

He shifts. "I guess you're here for the funeral. You always were the conscientious little employee. Wilson is bawling like a baby. People die. He knows that better than anyone. So do you, for that matter."

I sit in his chair and watch the play of sunlight and shadows on his tall form.

"I guess Wilson told you I was married," he continues. "She got her Green Card and wanted to stay married but I divorced her. She called me when she heard about Cuddy. Offered to stay with me. I can't get anyone to understand that I'm fine."

I remain silent and look around his office. Very little has changed in the years I've been gone; it's rather comforting.

Finally, he turns to me and I see that the years have been very kind to him. He is still handsome, his eyes are still as blue but his beard is gone. He smiles at me and I notice that deep dimples crease his cheeks.

"Still the same Cameron," he says. "I see you kept the hooker hair. What is it people say? Ah, you haven't aged a day. Still my perfect lobby art."

I remember the day he called me that. I was still naïve enough to believe that someone like him could love someone like me. I learned very quickly how wrong I was to believe that.

"Where are you staying?" he asks leaning back against the table in front of the window.

Before I can answer, he rests both hands on his cane and looks down. "You're welcome to stay with me."

The way he says it, so quietly and without looking at me, I know. He wants me to stay with him; he needs me to stay with him.

"Wilson invited me to stay with him. So did Foreman," I tell him.

"You should stay with Wilson," he shrugs. "Taub lives with Foreman and he'll make a move on you. I need him alive to do his job. Can't have you going all ninja on him because he sneaks into your room in the middle of the night for a little poke and tickle."

"I don't go all ninja on people," I say with a smile. I look up at him. He is still staring at the floor. "Why do you want me to stay with you?" I ask finally.

Outside, a cloud moves across the sun and the room darkens slightly. Looking up at me, I see the pain in his eyes. "Did Wilson call you?" he asks.

I nod.

House laughs bitterly. "He always thinks he knows what's best for me. Funny thing is that he does." He moves to stand over me and I tilt my head back to look at him. "Don't make me say it," he rasps.

Slowly, I stand. He doesn't move so we are touching, chest to chest, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. "I think you owe it to me to say it," I tell him looking directly into his eyes.

"Were you always this tall?" he grins trying to distract me.

"Why do you want me to stay with you?" I persist.

I can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes; I can feel the warmth radiating off him; I can smell his deliciously distinctive scent.

"God, you always were a pain in the ass," he sighs. "I need you. Happy?"

Reaching up, I rest my hand against his cheek. He flinches slightly at the contact and then leans into my palm. A tear traces the line of my finger against his skin.

"I'll stay with you."

He sags against me and nods. "You got a car?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Take me home."

* * *

><p>I curl up in the corner of his couch and listen to him play the piano. Since arriving at his apartment he has been silent. I ordered pizza which he ate silently. Now it is nearing midnight and he has been playing the piano for hours. He refused to talk to Wilson when he called a few minutes earlier. So I assured Wilson that his best friend was doing as well as could be expected and Wilson thanked me profusely for taking care of House for him.<p>

House closes the lid of the piano and stands up. Gripping his right thigh, he moves to the couch and slouches down next to me.

"I don't want to go to the funeral," he says.

I watch him and remain silent.

His hands curl into fists. "I loved her and she said she loved me. But she tried to change me; expected me to be someone I wasn't. Someone I couldn't be. I twisted myself in knots for her and because I took a fucking Vicodin, she broke up with me. I couldn't do it anymore. It got too hard. Stacy did it, too. What is so wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I tell him.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "Right," he scoffs.

"No, I'm serious," I say. "I never thought there was anything wrong with you. I understood why you took the Vicodin. I understood why you did the things you did-"

"Because it's right," he interrupts. "I remember you telling me that. Then you quit."

I smile at him. "Yes, I'm surprised you remember."

He turns on the couch and his knee bumps against my foot. "You said you were in love me the third time you quit." He smiles. "You quit a lot."

"I told you, there are two ways I deal with things. One of them is to leave."

"I never wanted you to leave," he says and then grimaces. "Oh, wow, I think I've been spending too much time with Wilson." He tries to smile.

I move closer to him. "As long as you're being honest," I begin.

"Oh, don't dissect me," he groans.

I put my hand on his thigh. "Did I ever stand a chance with you?" I ask softly.

He looks down at my hand and slowly covers it with his own. Slowly, he nods. "But I didn't deserve you. You are so good and caring. You're also so damn ethical. I don't deserve someone like you. I would have destroyed you and you would have ended up hating me."

I shake my head. "I wouldn't have let you destroy me. I'm tougher than I look."

"I don't-" he begins but I lean forward and kiss him cutting off his words.

I have kissed House twice. Once like this with tongues tangling and breath mingling and once on his cheek. This way is definitely better.

He breaks away, breathing hard and leans back against the couch. His hand grips mine.

"You deserve to be happy," I whisper.

Turning his head, he looks at me his eyes bright. "I can only be happy with you."

I laugh. "Was that so hard?" I ask.

"Yes," he says but he is smiling as he says it.

Leaning forward, he leers at me comically. "So, are we going to head into my bedroom for a little therapeutic romp?"

Some things never change and for once I'm glad. I shake my head and smile. "No, you're going to go to bed and sleep. I'm going to sleep on the couch," I inform him.

"Well, you're no fun," he pouts.

I squeeze his hand. "I thought you knew that?"

He laughs and then leans back against the couch again. I see that his eyes are unfocused and that he is thinking.

I wait and watch him.

Finally, without looking at me, he says, "If I go to the funeral, and it's a big if, will you stay with me?"

"Yes."

"And when I want to leave, will you leave, too?"

"Yes."

"Can I grope you to make the Aussie jealous?"

"No."

"Spoilsport."

"Go to bed, Greg," I sigh.

His head lifts abruptly and he stares at me.

"You're not my boss anymore and I always disliked the whole last name thing," I tell him.

He continues to stare at me. "Okay…Allison," he replies with a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice.

I laugh again and untangle my hand from his. "Get some sleep."

He hesitates and then leans toward me. His hand cups the back of my head and he kisses me again. His lips are soft and I lean into him. The man knows how to kiss. When he sucks lightly on my bottom lip, desire stabs through me leaving me shaking and breathless. I break the kiss and pull back. He sighs and stands up. I watch him walk away. Once he is out of sight, I stand and remove my jeans. Stretching out on the couch, I pull the blanket down off the back of the couch and turn off the light. I'm nearly asleep when the light clicks on again and I look up to see Greg standing over me with blankets and a pillow. He gestures for me to get up and looks at me quizzically when I hesitate.

"You can leave them," I tell him.

"I'll help you make up the couch."

"I took my jeans off," I tell him.

He shrugs. "You're wearing panties, aren't you?"

Shaking my head, I push the blanket back and stand up. We spread the sheets and blankets on the couch and he hands me one of his t-shirts.

"You can change in the bathroom," he tells me.

"Thank you."

I head down the hallway toward the bathroom and he follows. I hear his bedroom door close and enter the bathroom. I change into the t-shirt he gave me. I brought pajamas but I want to wear his shirt. After I finish in the bathroom, I return to the couch and settle down to sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning I awake to bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. I grab my watch off the coffee table and see that it is noon. The funeral is at two o'clock so I get up and go into the kitchen. After a little searching, I find coffee. I dump the fragrant grounds and water into the coffee maker and head to the bathroom. Greg's bedroom door is closed so I try to be as quiet as possible but I need to shower. I turn on the water and strip off his shirt and my panties. I noticed last night that Greg unpacked my bag so I reach for my shampoo and begin to wash my hair. Once I'm clean, I turn off the water and pull back the shower curtain. I stand for a moment listening. The apartment is still quiet. I dry off quickly and wrap a towel around me. I silently berate myself for not thinking more clearly. Looking around the living room, I notice that my suitcase is gone.<p>

"Looking for these?" Greg asks from the end of the hallway.

I jump at the sound of his voice and turn to see him swinging a pair of my panties on the end of his finger.

"My suitcase is in your bedroom," I remark.

House grins. "You always were quick to figure things out."

I snatch the panties from him and stomp into his bedroom. He follows on my heels. I see my suitcase sitting on the chair by the window. It is obvious he has gone through all my things. Some things never change.

I snatch up my clothes and head back to the bathroom. He is still close on my heels and I am certain he is grinning. I know there is no point in closing the door. If he wants in, he will simply pick the lock. So I drop the towel and begin to dress. I can see him in the mirror. He is leaning against the bathroom door, head tilted, and a look of bemused satisfaction on his face. I reach behind me to zip my dress but his hands push mine away and he slides the zipper up. I reach for my brush and hair dryer. As I begin to dry my hair, he strips his pajama pants and t-shirt off. I keep my eyes averted as he turns on the water and then steps into the shower. Before I finish my hair, he is out of the shower and drying off. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he waits for me to finish and then reaches around me to get his deodorant out of the medicine cabinet. I open my make up bag and begin to apply my makeup. I try not to think about how comfortable this all seems. He nudges me to one side and lathers up his face. I continue to apply my makeup as he shaves. He finishes, brushes his teeth quickly and limps into his bedroom. I tidy up the bathroom and head back to the kitchen. A quick glance at the clock shows me that we have about fifteen minutes before we have to leave for the funeral home. I find two travel mugs and pour coffee into them. I put the mugs next to my purse and return to Greg's room. He is pulling on a black suit jacket. I stare at him. He is dressed in a somber black suit, crisp white shirt, dark grey tie and shiny black dress shoes. His hair is neatly combed and the pain has returned to his eyes. I move forward and pull my shoes out of my bag. Moving to the bed, I sit down to put them on. Greg grabs a silver and black cane. Leaning on it, he waits for me. I stand and hold out my hand, fully expecting him to ignore it. Instead he grips my hand firmly and we walk out.

* * *

><p>The funeral home is crowded when we arrive. House grips my hand as we look for Wilson. He continues to hold my hand as we slide in next to Wilson who is red eyed and exhausted looking. House stares straight ahead. Chase and Remy arrive and squeeze in next to us. Chase stares at House's hand entwined with mine and then looks away.<p>

The service passes in a blur. I am aware of House sitting stiffly beside me, gripping my hand and staring straight ahead. I find it hard to focus on anything else. Finally it ends and we all stand. House practically drags me through the crowd and out the door. We get to the car and he gets in, slamming the door. I drive us back to his apartment. He gets out and stands on the sidewalk waiting for me. Taking my hand again he leads me into the building and unlocks the door. Once in, I fully expect him to grab me and kiss me. Instead he leans his cane against the wall and shrugs out of his jacket. Tossing it on the back of the couch, he kicks his shoes off and heads into the kitchen.

"How does a sandwich sound to you?" he calls out.

I remove my shoes and drop my purse on the desk. I walk into the kitchen and look at him.

"What?" he asks. "I'm fine."

"Really?"

He slumps against the butcher block table in the center of the kitchen. "I loved her. But it wasn't enough. I'm going to miss her but I really am fine. We'd gotten back to the way things used to be. I'd pull crazy stunts to save my patients, she'd yell and everything would be fine." He looks at me. "I just always figured she would outlive me. I figured you all would."

I move to stand close to him. "If it makes you feel any better, I will most likely outlive you by several years."

He laughs; a delighted laugh that I have never heard before. Putting his arm around me, he pulls me close. I feel him press a kiss against my hair.

"You're here," he whispers. "So everything is fine. I'm fine."

Leaning into him, I nod. I can hear the steady thud of his heart and the breath moving quietly in and out of his lungs.

"I wonder if the new administrator will have a rack like Cuddy did?" he asks.

"Nope," I tell him. "The new administrator does not."

He pulls back from me. "No."

I nod. "The board called me after Wilson did. I couldn't pass up the chance to boss you around."

He smiles. I frown.

"I have no problem telling you no now," I inform him.

"Your lips will be saying no, but your eyes will be saying _Oh God, yes Greg_!" he smirked.

I laugh and lean in to him. Some things never change and I hope they never do.


End file.
